Quartet
by FloatingBubbles
Summary: In parallel universes, four siblings deal with the same situation in very different ways. A collection of character studies, of sorts. The OC is a plot device, not a Mary Sue. Susan, Lucy, Peter and Edmund; in that order.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing Narnia. End of story.

A/N: For the most part, I _really_ don't like OC inserts, in any fandom—Narnia included. However, my OC was a necessity for the story. I just want to make it immensely clear, though, that she's far, _far_ from being the central character. In fact, this story really is a character study of the four Pevensie children. Chapter one makes it seem like the story is about her, but it's really just set up.

A/N2: The timeline for this story is about five years after _Voyage of the Dawn Treader_, because that puts all the Pevensies around the age I wanted them. That is, ranging from Lucy's 16 to Peter's 19. (I did do research to figure out the correct ages…but it was Wikipedia research, because I was being lazy. So I apologize for any minor age correctness infractions made. It's really not that important to the story.

A/N3: Yes, the prologue is supposed to be short. That's the way it is. The chapters vary in length, but they're all relatively short. They have a point, though. That's important, isn't it?

* * *

**Quartet**

_Prologue_

She ran.

This was not amazingly unexpected, because, at heart, Celia knew that she was something of a coward. She wasn't proud of it, but there it was: _she was a coward_.

She ran so that she didn't have to remember, didn't have to face the world, didn't have to worry, didn't have to solve, didn't have to _think_.

She could just concentrate on the pounding of her feet on the pavement (and on not running into anything solid).

But while her mind could keep on running forever, her body did not have quite the same stamina, which is how she came to be standing on a dark, deserted bridge, panting, unable to run any longer, wishing she still could.

Now that she was still, thoughts accosted her.

How, she wondered, could one stupid, _stupid_ moment of out-of-control anger have turned into _this_? How did it all get so blown out of proportion? Why couldn't anyone _understand_? And, most importantly, how could she face tomorrow knowing that it would just one more day _alone_?

Angrily, she kicked the bridge railing, cursing the tears for finding their way to her eyes. Cursing the night for being so clear, so beautiful, while she felt so utterly wretched. Cursing the moon for shining so brightly and happily, cursing the stars for winking joyously at her when she was in no mood to be winked at joyously, or, in fact, any way at all.

At least the river—running in a vicious, angry, violently rapid current—was in the right mood, Celia thought, looking at said river (and the railing separating her from it) distractedly.

_I_ _wonder_…

She wondered what their reactions would be, if she _did_ do it. Not that she was planning to. Of course…

…_maybe…_

…maybe it was the night getting to her, or the sorrow, or the utter pointlessness of the whole situation, but when she looked at the water, it was almost surreal…

_...if I…_

…if she _did _do it, maybe she would be a little less empty, a little more peaceful. It was just one move away. A move that had formerly seemed so hard, so unfathomable, so ridiculous, now seemed almost…easy…

…_just…_

Through her muddy thoughts, Celia found herself climbing over the side of the bridge.

Standing on the small ledge, her back facing and her hands gripping the railing, her face turned to the waters below; it suddenly didn't seem so far down, after all.

* * *

Important A/N: _This is not angst_. Honestly. I couldn't write angst if I tried. I promise you, no one will die. No need to worry about that.

On another note,reviews are very much appreciated. They also make me update faster, you know, and that means we can get to the point. So review. Please.

~FB~


	2. Susan: A Cry for Help

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Finally, the first Pevensie makes her appearance. It's uphill from here, kids!

* * *

_II_

_A Cry for Help_

Susan smiled at the dark sky as she strolled down the road, happily replaying moments from the night in her head. Again she shot a grin upwards as she remembered one young man's comment, "Sue, your hair looks so lovely in the moonlight!"

She knew that her brothers and sister thought she was completely shallow to so enjoy being adored, but she didn't see anything wrong with wanting looking her best and then being pleased when it was noticed.

Anyway, in her opinion, there was nothing quite like walking back from a party and knowing, just _knowing_ that you had made all the girls insanely jealous and all the boys wildly—

She stopped in her tracks momentarily—just momentarily—at what she saw ahead of her when she stepped onto the bridge.

A moment later, she was running at full speed in the other direction.

Susan was no stranger to the social problems of the world—in fact, she thrived in the drama it held. Gossip was her language and secrets her trade.

So, when she saw a girl standing on the side of a bridge, looking down at the waters below, Susan knew _precisely_ what that girl was intending to do.

Susan also knew precisely what _she_ was going to do.

Her fists slammed frantically on the door of the last house she had passed—the nearest to the bridge.

"Help! Please! Anyone! Come out, _please_! There's a—!"

She cut off momentarily as a man answered the door, only to immediately begin explaining the situation as rapidly as she could.

He was a tough-seeming man with a rather out of control beard, who now looked extraordinarily surprised to see a beautiful but disheveled looking young woman standing on his doorstep. Then he heard her words.

"—a girl, and she's on the bridge, and she's _going to jump_! Please! _Help!_"

He had always been something of a do-gooder with a highly developed sense of duty to his fellow mankind, so he immediately ran out the door (not bothering to do anything more than slam it closed behind him), and the pair sped back to where Susan had been a moment before.

Neither of them even so much as paused when they saw the girl on the bridge, which was good, because, as it turned out, the slightest hesitation and all could have been lost.

Because, as they neared her, the girl let go.

And fell.

Then, as though just realizing what had happened, she screamed.

(So did Susan)

Her scream was cut short when she realized that she had not, in fact, fallen very far at all, and she seemed to be dangling in midair, and her arm felt like it was about to come out of its socket.

At least, those are the things she _would_ have noticed, if she hadn't been quite so hysterical.

"No! No, I didn't mean it! I didn't! I didn't! I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die…"

The phrase became her mantra; her eyes were shut tightly closed, tears leaking out from beneath them.

Above her, the man holding her wrist grunted with the effort, and he managed to grind out between clenched teeth, "You're _not_ going to die. Now help me out, here."

At that, the crying girl looked up, surprised, before her mouth set in a grim line, and she pulled herself just the slightest bit together. It might have helped that she made a point of not looking down.

She was panicked, he was pained, and the pretty young woman standing at the railing was nearly as terrified as the girl hanging below it, but, somehow, with much slips and false alarms and cries of terror, the girl was back on the bridge.

Shakily, as she collapsed against the man's arm, the girl (who, Susan now noticed, was not all that much younger than herself, if she was any younger at all) said, "Thank you, sir. I…I don't know what came over me, I…" She trailed off.

The man smiled a bit, claiming, "It's not me you should thank. If this young lady over here hadn't come running, I doubt that this would have worked out quite so well."

The girl shakily smiled, and shakily stood, and shakily held out her hand, and shakily (she was shaking oh-so-hard) said "Th...Thank you. I'm Celia. I…I owe you my life."

The other young woman gripped her hand, and returned the smile, "I'm Susan Pevensie, and you're very welcome."

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A/N: Remember, Reviews are beloved. Very, very, beloved. Practically worshiped.

~FB~


	3. Lucy: For What It's Worth

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

A/N: Alternate ending #2.

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_IV_

_For What It's Worth_

Lucy knew that she shouldn't really be out this late, but, then again, she had never really intended to be in the first place.

She had lost track of time at the library. Again.

She did that a lot, really—Lucy was "never quite in the same world as the rest of us," as her many friends would often say, shaking their heads with a fond lack of understanding.

It was for that reason that she so loved the library (specifically, the fiction section)—she adored the places that the books could take her; she relished the adventures that they let her share. Lucy had never been (and would never be) the sort to decline an invitation to a new world; she thought that _every_ world was worth exploring.

Another contributing factor as to why she was out so late was that Lucy never could seem to get from one place to another quickly.

She was constantly preoccupied with the color of this stone, or the scent of that flower, or the texture of this tree's bark.

Granted, she had always liked the daytime more—she had a certain instinctual fondness for the sun and the warmth—but the nighttime had its own sort of beauty.

Lucy was an expert at finding beauty.

As she approached a bridge, she was surprised and altogether confused to see a girl standing on the wrong side of the railing.

So, being Lucy, she immediately shouted, "Hello over there!" and made for the figure on the bridge, never losing the characteristic bounce in her step.

The girl on the bridge looked rather shocked to see a bouncing blonde sixteen year old coming her way, but, quite frankly, there wasn't much she could do in response except crane her neck to get a good look at her company and wait for her approach.

When said blonde reached the railing, she immediately said, "Hello, I'm Lucy," almost as though introducing herself to an acquaintance at a crowded dinner party, as opposed to a girl standing only inches away from an ill-fated plummet.

"Celia," came the perplexed reply.

Lucy cut right to the chase with a rather naïve, "Why are you standing on the other side of the railing? You're supposed to be on _this_ side."

Celia replied simply, "I'm going to jump off."

"Well, that doesn't seem very smart. Are you a strong swimmer?"

"Not really."

"Then you probably won't survive the current."

Celia was bewildered, since she had thought her intentions to be perfectly clear, "That's sort of the point."

"So…it's you're throwing yourself off a bridge because you know you can't survive?" Somehow it didn't help Celia even a bit that Lucy seemed to be just as bewildered as she was.

Sighing, she tried to explain just a little bit, "Have you ever been in a situation where you were surrounded by people, but completely alone? Where no one would even look at you, and, when they do, it's always with an expression of disgust? Have you ever done something so _stupid_ that you managed to get yourself completely isolated by everyone you know?"

"Not really" was Lucy's too-honest reply.

"Then you don't understand that, in this situation, life is just…not really worth living, any longer."

"No." Lucy answered with complete conviction, "Life is _always_ worth living."

Celia looked at her companion sharply, at that. And, though she was not quite convinced that jumping was such a bad idea, there was something about the other girl—a spark of childlike innocence paired with a hint of unprecedented maturity—that made it quite clear to Celia that there was _no way_ she could let go of the railing while Lucy's eyes were upon her.

However, Lucy didn't seem to be planning on leaving any time soon.

Realizing her only option, Celia said softly, "alright," and climbed back over the railing to stand beside the smaller girl.

With a wan smile, Celia gave said girl an uncertain goodbye, citing that she was just going to look at the moon a bit and then go home. Lucy, her trusting and unquestioning countenance marred only by a certain flash of the eye, bid Celia adieu in return, merrily continuing on her way.

Celia watched her go, thinking that once Lucy was out of sight she would climb back over the railing and finish the deed.

But then the other girl was gone, and Celia still made no move away from the spot where she was standing, still staring at the place where Lucy had been.

A minute passed, but still, no move.

"_Life is _always_ worth living."_

Celia turned away from the bridge and began to walk.

She didn't look back.

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A/N: And there, my friends, is Lucy's chapter. Take a guess at who will be next!

Review! Please!

~FB~


	4. Peter: Hero

Discalimer: I dis any claim.

* * *

_I_

_Hero_

"Workaholic," they called him. "Overachiever," they said.

Peter never corrected them. After all, how else was he supposed to explain away his seeming compulsion to join (and obtain a leadership position in) every available society and organization that even remotely interested him?

_"So, there was this time, in this magical country, and I was a king for, oh twenty-five years, and now I'm back, but I'm still pretty used to being in charge."_

Yeah. That would go over well.

It had been a few of these organizations (four, actually. In a row.) that had kept Peter out this late, leaving him to daydream happily about his bed as he made his way towards it.

Peter usually imposed upon himself a relatively early bedtime, because his brain never quite worked this late at night.

That might be why, when he saw a girl standing on the bridge in a relatively unconventional manner, he couldn't seem to do much but stare at her and wonder_ why…?_

He got the feeling that he was missing something very obvious, but he just couldn't seem to grasp it. It _was_ there, though, fluttering around in his mind, just out of reach.

Finally, he caught it. His eyes widened.

The girl let go.

Without another thought, Peter (now fully awoken and feeling sharper than he had in days) was racing towards the place where she had just been.

(He was so concentrated, he didn't even hear her scream.)

Somehow (he would never quite know _how_, his body just seemed to take over) he managed to get rid of his sweater and his shoes and get over the railing, diving…

…_cold!_ Was his first thought as he hit the water, but a moment later he was back on task, looking for the young lady he had seen before while pushing against the current and trying to keep the water from getting in his eyes and his head from going under.

He had not been far behind her at all, though, so she was not exceptionally hard to find, and, luckily, she was conscious.

"Hold on!" Peter cried over the sound of the water, gripping her against him. She, whimpering, obeyed, and did so again when he told her to "Kick your feet!"

Had Peter not been a strong swimmer, he would most certainly not have been able to fight the current. Luckily, he was, and he could.

Finally, they managed to get to the bank, and, after painfully pulling themselves up upon the ground, they flopped down next to each other, gasping for breath.

Slowly, he heard the panicked but choked words repeating over and over again from the girl beside him:

"I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I—"

Peter gasped out, "Shh. You're not going to die."

The girl opened her eyes, and, breathlessly, realized that she was, indeed, going to _live_.

Gaping at the sky and having not yet caught her breath, Celia asked (rather rudely, she would later think. But it could be excused, considering the circumstances), "Who _are_ you?"

"Peter." (_Oh, Lord! What a time for introductions!_) "Peter Pevensie."

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A/N: Review? maybe?

~FB~


	5. Edmund: Second Chances

Disclaimer: I claim nothing.

A/N: Last Chapter.

* * *

_III_

_Second Chances_

Edmund loved the nighttime.

Maybe it was because it was so much more peaceful than the daytime. Or because it was so dark—there was no need to hide anything in the night, because nothing much could be seen that clearly, anyway. Lines blurred in the dark.

Then again, maybe it was just the stars. He had always rather liked the stars.

It is not surprising, then, that he took his walks at night—he relished the sensations of the breeze on his face, the moon on his neck, the feeling that he was the only person in the world (which was the only reason he would allow himself to be so ridiculously sentimental).

But he wasn't the only person in the world, he now saw.

No, there was also a girl, and, as he saw where she was standing, he stopped in his tracks for a moment.

Then he continued on, the only indication he had seen her being a slight change of direction and a bit more purpose in his stride.

Silently, he reached her side, just as she seemed to plan to let go.

"I'd rather you didn't, thanks."

The girl jerked a bit in surprise, and her hands instinctively tightened on the railing as she twisted as well as she could to see the young man standing beside her.

Then, scared into irritability, she replied, "What do you care?"

"Well, technically, if you jump while I'm here you might traumatize me for life. And what good would that do?"

Celia gritted her teeth, muttering about people who just couldn't seem to mind their own business. She breathed deeply, trying to get herself under control, and then was further irritated as she realized that he was right: she could not, in good conscience, jump off of the bridge until he had left.

Closing her eyes and mentally counting to ten, Celia rather snappily hissed something about him going away so she could get on with her life.

"Or lack thereof," was his witty reply.

She glared. He quailed.

Never one to be cowed for long, he spoke again, "Well, you could at least tell me why. After all, I don't think I could ever feel comfortable leaving a young lady to kill herself if I don't know that she has a legitimate reason to do so."

Secretly, she thought that he was perfectly horrid to even consider "leaving a young lady to kill herself," whatever her reasons. However, she did want him to go away, so she did not share this sentiment.

Alright: his request. Celia was not in the habit of gushing about her life to random people she met on the street, but he was now leaning casually against the railing and seemed to be making himself quite comfortable. There seemed to be no other way that she was going to get rid of him.

Anyway, there was no reason not to tell him. If this _was_ the last time she would be alive, it might be nice to have the story out there before she was washed away by the current below.

And so, with that in mind, she told him.

She told him of the way that she had been entrusted with an important secret by her friend. She told how she had promised, had _promised_, not to tell, _never_ to tell. She told him of the one, solitary moment of frustration and anger, when she had carelessly tossed the secret out into the public domain.

She told him of their reaction, of the way that the sympathy had been laid with her friend, the blame put upon Celia. She spoke of the self-loathing and the unending guilt. She spoke of the way she had been ostracized, how her explanations were not listened to, how her apologies went unacknowledged, how her cries of regret fell on deaf ears.

In one thoughtless, rash moment, Celia had relegated herself to a world of silent hatred, a world that was unforgiving and immature in the cruelest way of young adults in groups.

It was as she reached the conclusion of her story that Edmund, who had been so quiet during the telling, interrupted her speech.

"Listen, I know that what you did is bad and all, but don't you think it's a little, err, _juvenile_—"

She cut him off with a rather bitter laugh, "Oh I _know_ the situation is juvenile, I even know that everyone is being plain old stupid about it."

"Then, if you don't mind my asking, why the bridge?"

"Because I can't deal with the isolation," she glanced at him, trying to read his expression; no noticeable emotion, "As ridiculous as the whole thing is, I can't stand their reaction—I can't _live _with their reaction. I _can't_. So I have to die. If I can't live, I have to die. They'll never forgive me! They've made _that_ clear enough! I'm sure you _know _how adamant schoolkids can get when they feed each other's grudges. And…and…I…I've started to wonder…if I'm of so little worth in their eyes that they can't even consider forgiving me, maybe I was never of any worth to them. The loss of my presence doesn't seem to have hurt them much at all. I'm no good to anyone, and I'm unforgivable. So I have no reason to live."

Distraught and tearful, feeling as though her heart—now in her throat—was going to choke her, Celia began to loosen her grip on the railing, only to be stopped by a soft male voice.

(She had almost forgotten he was there)

"Can _you_ forgive yourself?"

She gave a bit of a snort at the question, but then thought about it and answered honestly, "Yes, I think I can. It was just one moment and…I didn't mean it…and…"

"Then, it seems, you are not so unforgivable after all."

And she knew that _her own _forgiveness meant little to the situation, that it would help nothing and make no changes to her predicament, but, somehow, when he put it that way (she _knows_ its not just a clever remark, she _knows_ its not just an idle brush-off), it almost tugged her heart back to its rightful place in her chest. It was almost odd that way. She didn't understand it.

"Why are you doing this?" She found herself asking him.

That made Edmund think, his eyebrows coming together to form a "V" on his forehead. For the briefest moment, he looked not like a boy but like a man, a man well into life who never let a question pass by without due attention, no mater how insignificant, no matter how ridiculous it was.

An instant later, his visage smoothed out, a conclusion reached, and he was a boy again.

His words, though, were still the man's.

"Because," he said thoughtfully, "I believe in second chances."

And he paused, and Celia had to twist a bit to see his face clearly, and it was kind of uncomfortable, but it was also kind of worth it to see his nonjudgmental smile.

"Do you?"

His question surprised her, but she soon got a grasp upon it--and her answer.

"I think…I think I might."

For a long moment, they both stared into the waters below her, just the opening-of-a-hand away.

Then, quietly, a question "Will you walk with me?"

The equally soft answer, unhesitating, "Yes. Yes, I think I would like that."

That was the thing about the nighttime.

The dark didn't judge, the stars held no prejudice, and, at night, forgiveness didn't seem so far away.

The night was the time of second chances.

And Edmund? Edmund would never stop believing in second chances.

* * *

Concluding A/N: Well...I haven't gotten much feedback at all for this story. I'm staying optimistic and hoping that that's just because chapter one is so off-putting. Sorry about that. I enjoyed writing it, though. However, I think I'll go back to writing humor. I'm better at it.

Review anyway, please. This is, after all, the end of the story.

~FB~


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